


The Peaky Hair

by comebackjessica



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie Loves That Man, Bisexual Disaster Tommy Shelby, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Boyfriend Alfie Solomons, Hair, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Protective Alfie Solomons, Smut, Submissive Tommy Shelby, Tommy Is Full Of Neuroses, Tommy Shelby Needs a Hug, blowjob, handjob, lots of comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: The story behind Tommy's Peaky hair and how one Alfie Solomons skillfully tackles his boyfriend's neuroses.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 8
Kudos: 77





	The Peaky Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [When_Tommy_Met_Alfie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/gifts).



> This is a gift to my dear friend @WTMA / @When_Tommy_Met_Alfie. As soon as I came up with this story, I immediately wanted this to have all your favorite bits! I hope you'll like it. Oh, and also... this was supposed to be short and sweet but you know what? You're my friend! Have some smut with these two Idiot Husbands, too.

Tommy Shelby hated having his hair cut.

Ever since him and his siblings were old enough to need it, Aunt Polly has been the one to do it. The horrible act would be performed in the kitchen, with the big, semi-sharp scissors she would also often use for dressmaking. Tommy always tried to run away and hide then, he could sense a haircut day coming from miles away. Nothing could be kept secret from this boy, Aunt Polly always said.

One glorious time, his mother cut his hair in the bathroom, just this once. She was feeling better and wanted to do something nice for her favorite son – Tommy always assumed he was the favorite since he really, really wanted to be. This was the only time Tommy willingly let someone touch his hair and sat perfectly still for the entire thing.

As he and his brothers got older, Polly focused more and more on Ada’s updos, and less on her nephew’s four rowdy heads. Which, fair enough, Tommy supposed. He initially took it as a good omen, that is – until Aunt Polly deemed his curly hair too delicious a treat for lice and the idea of the local barber was thrown at him like a bucket of ice cold water.

Never again would Tommy trust any adult.

He went through life hating his hair. He hated how it curled, hater when women touched it, hated when anyone touched it, really. Always on edge about it, Tommy treated his barber appointments like a sparring match. He rarely spoke during these, always let the man talk and do his thing. He dreaded the mechanical hair clippers as a boy, he would come to dread them as an adult, too. He was never prepared for when the nasty thing would nick him, cut the skin, pull out some hair, jag on his ear. It wasn’t painful per se but it made him jumpy. 

As a kid, he would wince in the barber’s chair and try to run away before the nasty procedure would even be finished. Polly scolded him for it mercilessly. As an adult, Tommy endured it, avoiding small talk and keeping his face neutral, as the barber pulled and tugged on his hair with rusty clippers, and permanently scarred his scalp.

In the trenches, it turned out that Aunt Polly was right all along. The haircut really did protect him from lice and other bugs, but then again… it could’ve been her spells all the same. By the time he was drafted, Tommy had been wearing the same haircut for the past seven years. He liked it for the sole reason that it prevented his hair from curling; it was entirely too short for it to do so. He didn’t think the style exactly _looked good,_ it was more of the style defining him at this point than the other way around. It was practical and it was quick to maintain during the dreaded barber visits (same old man, same rusty scissors, same banged up clippers that touched all the heads in Birmingham), that is – if he kept his appointments regular. Then they were short enough. Tommy realized after a while that the hair appointments very much started to resemble a deranged menstrual cycle.

Something changed one day, but Tommy didn’t put the two and two together until the moment already passed. In an event completely unrelated to his neurosis, Tommy had the brilliant idea to come to Camden Town and seek an audience with one Alfie Solomons. Again, very much unrelated to his hair problem but very significant nonetheless. Everything changed after that day and not all of it was bad, either. 

Turns out… Tommy liked being looked at. He just hadn’t been looked at by the right people. 

And touching his hair was not so horrible if the other person respected his boundaries. Alfie liked Tommy’s hair. Tommy knew that because the man wouldn’t shut up about it. Alfie would find any excuse to touch his hair; tug at the longer part on top of Tommy’s head during sex or gently stroke the shaved parts at the sides when he cuddled Tommy to sleep. Tommy would fight him about it at first, but then gradually changed his mind when it turned out that Alfie appeared to be the only one who actually knew how Tommy would want to be touched. And so Tommy let him. 

Alfie commented often on Tommy’s foul mood whenever the time to visit the barber came. He would say it was only a damn haircut but it wasn’t. It was foreign hands too close to his skin and rusty clippers making his tortured mind bleed.

A year after him and Alfie started fucking, Tommy gradually started to let his hair grow out. He saw a pattern between Alfie relaxing him for days to come and then the damned barber ruining it in minutes. Always anticipating the experience and never letting himself relax completely, Tommy decided to see what would happen if he just… let it go for a moment. Put it on the shelf and re-visit some other day.

At first, nobody noticed which was honestly a relief. Tommy could go back to concentrating on the business and push down the unimportant stuff as much as humanly possible.

Then, Alfie caught on but to Tommy’s astonishment, said nothing. Tommy finally realized that one thing and one thing only was going through Alfie’s mind at all times and that was: to _touch_ Tommy’s longer hair even more _._ Tommy allowed this because he was practically a saint at this point. Even though Alfie would constantly play with Tommy’s hair and it annoyed its owner to no end, he touched Tommy in other places, too, and those touches Tommy liked significantly more. So he forgot about the damned hair and let Alfie do whatever the hell the crazy man wanted.

It worked, for a while. As soon as someone touching Tommy’s head became a routine and he let himself be casual about it, though, a different sort of phobia crept up on him. 

The damned thing started to _curl_ and Alfie went berserk. Tommy blamed himself because Solomons honestly never would’ve realized Tommy’s hair could even do that – because Tommy used to keep such a strict routine. Now, the secret was out. And Alfie still wouldn’t stop touching the fucking hair, tugging on it during sex and stroking it after. 

It was nice, Tommy decided. Weird, but nice. 

But then it got even longer and Tommy started to scratch. There was no reason for it, he was a man of impeccable hygiene and he knew Alfie was no slob either. It was Aunt Polly’s stories about lice that slowly resurfaced, as the hair covered his sides and the nape of his neck, threatening imaginary infestation. 

Alfie noticed something, when Tommy started to scratch his head even in his sleep. And, being Alfie, he just wouldn’t let the subject drop.

“Wash your damn hands,” Alfie said one day, after Tommy got up from the kitchen table, ready to wash up after breakfast. 

This is how it worked, Alfie cooked and Tommy cleaned. Tommy hardly ever returned to Birmingham these days. He bought a flat in London and they shared it with Alfie most of the time. Other times, when the charade required strengthening, each returned to their respective homes for at least a month to pretend in front of everyone they didn't even know each other. Tommy hated those months but at least he was able to do any work then.

“I’m about to,” Tommy said slowly, not really understanding the meaning behind Alfie’s request.

“Uh-huh,” Alfie hummed, looking at Tommy from behind his Russian novel. “You’ve got blood under your fingernails again, mate.”

First things first – they’ve been fucking for nearly two years now. Alfie still insisted on calling Tommy his bloody _mate._

And second…

“Oh,” Tommy said, looking at his hands. “Yeah, I… I’ll wash that off.”

“Soap’s by the sink,” Alfie said, calm as a convent. 

“I know where the bloody soap is, Alfie,” Tommy barked. 

Alfie just chuckled and went back to his novel. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Alright, enough!” Tommy basically threw the dishes in the sink and looked at Alfie furiously. “What did I do, huh?! What the fuck is it this time?”

“What?” Alfie honestly looked bewildered. The _nerve._ “Nah, mate, I’m afraid I’m not following.”

“You’re obviously upset about something.” Tommy grabbed the sides of the table and looked at Alfie intently. “So out with it, eh? What the fuck is it?”

Alfie closed his book then and looked at Tommy, with that way of his that pierced right through him and made him feel like the only thing in the world the man was honestly focused on.

“You’ve been scratching your head in your sleep, mate. It’s been like this for weeks. You’re givin’ yourself scars, right, and I don’t think you even know you’re doin’ it.”

The thought was honestly calm and well-articulated enough to give Tommy pause. He turned around and marched right to the bathroom to examine himself in the mirror.

No surprise there. Alfie was right. He spotted the scabs and the shallow scars right away. These were fresher than the ones he got from the barber, he could tell. It was his own damn head, after all.

_What the fuck, though…_

“Might I fuckin’ venture to say, mate,” Alfie said, now standing behind Tommy in the bathroom door and watching him closely in the mirror. “Your hair’s too long. And it’s bugging you. Why? I have no idea, it honestly looks fuckin’ lovely, right, but something’s bugging you and I think it’s time to talk.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy said mechanically, still not done examining his head. There was some blood at the side, just behind his ear. It was dry now but Tommy’s seen enough blood in his hair not to mistake it for anything else. Finally, he let it go and washed his hands again. And then once more for good measure. 

It honestly felt too good _not to_ have been going to the barber. Sure, he was upsetting his partner now but this was _Alfie._ It didn’t feel like it would be the end of the world for them, it was just tense and problematic, especially because Tommy suspected he would have to share something or bare something he really wasn’t prepared to say out loud.

“Just get it cut,” Alfie said, trying to sound casual. “Don’t keep it longer on my account, alright?”

Tommy chuckled at that, a little bit surprised that the man knew Tommy knew he liked his hair. Then again, Alfie wasn’t necessarily subtle about it.

“Not everything is about you.”

“Oh, fuckin’ hell.” Alfie grunted and smirked a bit at that. “Believe me, mate, right… I know that. But you’re clearly in a dark fuckin’ place, right, because of something insignificant. Cut it all the fuck off, I don’t care. Just… stop _that_ , yeah?” Alfie stepped closer and carefully touched the scabs on Tommy’s neck.

Tommy took a long breath and shook his head.

“I hate it.”

“Hate what?”

“The…” Tommy pointed to his head.

“Your hair? What the fuck, Tom? It’s just fuckin’ hair.”

“It’s… complicated.”

Alfie hummed now and Tommy knew that sound. It was an invitation and a signal that Alfie was listening. It honestly made Tommy’s heart skip a beat.

“Explain,” Alfie demanded, taking a seat at the edge of the large bathtub. 

Tommy signed and gestured widely around himself, not really knowing where to start.

“I hate haircuts,” he finally said, not knowing how else to put it. 

To his astonishment, the usually playful Alfie didn’t say anything. He just nodded. 

“Alright,” he said finally. “What exactly is the worst part? ‘Cause I seen you honestly one step short from eating plaster off the walls just so you could avoid the damn barber. And I’d like to know, right, is the man suckin’ you off while cutting it or are you in love with him and that’s why the tall and mighty Tommy Shelby can’t just go to see someone else about it?”

Tommy sighed and waved his hand around again.

“It hurts.”

“When someone cuts your hair?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking unpleasant. He uses the clippers, the same rusty piece of shit he used when I was a fuckin’ boy, and his scissors are just… fucked, and just–”

“You could’ve gone to another barber, you walnut.”

Nobody spoke to Tommy Shelby like that. Nobody but his family. He looked at Alfie now, his face honestly unreadable except the absolute sense of betrayal in his eyes.

“First of all, I can’t explain it to someone that I want them to do a fuckin’ _lice_ preventing haircut, people know who I am. You’re insane. Second thing, people want to kill me, Alfie, alright? I can’t just go to some new idiot with scissors and trust him near my fuckin’ jugular.”

Alfie laughed at that, he honest to God laughed. Then he reached out and pulled Tommy closer, resting his chin on Tommy’s sternum and looking up at him. 

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, sweetie,” Alfie said, with absolute certainty. “Fuckin’ easy on the eyes but absolutely, one-hundred percent psychotic.”

Tommy didn’t even try to escape the embrace. He looked back into the mirror that hung above the washbasin and watched Alfie watch him. 

“I think I’ll shave it all off,” Tommy finally said, but then Alfie realised in a split second that Tommy was now only looking for a reaction.

Alfie smirked and shrugged. “If that’s what ya want,” he said and let Tommy go. “But honestly, mate, I cut my own hair, it’s not that bad. Always grows back, I assure you.”

_Wait._

“You cut your own hair,” Tommy repeated, as if the grand secret to life just unfolded before his very eyes.

“Yeah.” Alfie shrugged. “Trim the beard a bit, too. Don’t trust anyone to do it, that part I agree with you on. We’re not ordinary people, we fuckin’ murder and steal, right. There’s a fine line between us and Jack the fuckin’ Ripper but like I said. It’s a fine one.”

Tommy considered this for a second. He never heard Alfie speak so harshly about the business, but well. He was right. They were no ordinary men with ordinary lives and a handful of office enemies. Instead, there were honest to God _gangs_ forming alliances against them and conspiring to feed them their own tongues.

Then, looking like he was honestly scared to death, Tommy said:

“Then you do it.”

“What?” Alfie chuckled. “You want me to cut your hair?”

“Yes.”

“You, Tommy Shelby? The baddest man alive?”

Tommy sighed and closed his eyes.

“ _Please._ ”

“Fuck off!”

But Tommy looked at him intently and Alfie knew that his man wasn’t kidding.

“Ah, fuck you for makin’ me do this, mate.” Alfie stood up with a grunt and went to rummage in the bathroom cabinet. Finally, he produced scissors and a comb. He thought about it for a minute before handing Tommy both.

“It’s clean,” Alfie explained. “No rust.”

Indeed, Tommy looked at both items, finding nothing wrong with them.

“No clippers,” Tommy said immediately, eyes stern but expectant.

“Yeah, what the fuck, Tom? No sheep in this house, bloody hell.” Exasperated, Alfie put a towel over Tommy’s shirt and made him sit at the edge of the bathtub. He ran his fingers through the thick, dark curls, sighing deeply.

“Fine,” he said, more to himself than to Tommy. He took the scissors and started cutting. 

Tommy winced the first couple of times. Alfie retracted his hands then and waited patiently. Then, he just proceeded, very convincing in acting like this here was the normal fucking way to spend Sundays. 

Thick strands of black hair fell to the floor and some of it on Alfie’s shirt. After the first initial times, Tommy realized to his utter surprise that he stopped wincing. Nothing hurt. Nothing was touching his scalp, nor his ears. Alfie was careful like a surgeon, if a bit disgruntled about this particular operation. 

Tommy wondered how come his man was so skilled with scissors but decided to ask this later. Preferably once Alfie would no longer hold them so close to his face. Despite relaxing significantly, Tommy must have moved around too much anyway, because suddenly Alfie folded the scissors and huffed in a way that reminded Tommy of a tired horse.

“Keep wincing and I stop being so fuckin’ sweet with you, boy.”

Tommy looked him in the eye, then. Couldn’t help it. Finally, Tommy smirked a bit and nodded.

“Understood. Continue,” he said softly. And Alfie took a sharp breath and went back to work, mumbling swear words as he did it, but when the scissors went back to cutting, Tommy didn’t even flinch. Nothing hurt and it was surprising. 

After a while, Tommy had to take a cigarette break and Alfie let him, prolonging the process but honestly… who cares? It was more time spent with Tommy, albeit spent on the weirdest bloody activity Alfie could’ve ever come up with.

Tommy lit his cigarette in peace, taking a few drags before offering it to Alfie. Alfie’s eyes went dark. He actually started to like smoking a little bit because of Tommy and he still wasn’t very happy that happened. Nevertheless, Alfie bent down a bit and took a long drag from the cigarette held between Tommy’s fingers before resuming his work on the sides.

Hours passed but none of them realized. Finally, Alfie just nodded and stepped back, apparently deeming this good enough. He turned around and proceeded to clean the scissors and the comb, letting Tommy do whatever he needed to do now, in his own time. 

Tommy lit one more cigarette and carefully approached the bathroom mirror. He looked at himself for a long time without a word, just watching and smoking.

“This is…” he said but couldn’t finish the thought.

This was his signature haircut exactly. The dreadful one, the one Tommy learned to like and then couldn’t feel like himself without. Granted, this was not cut as close to the scalp because Alfie only had scissors to work with, but still. 

This was almost the same hairstyle Tommy had back when they first met.

“Yeah, looks good.” Alfie washed his hands and ran his fingers through the longer part on top of Tommy’s head. 

“It does, yeah,” Tommy said and finished his cigarette, looking at Alfie intently and smirking a little bit. Before the other man could say anything else, Tommy grabbed his shoulders and kissed him. Tommy realized he usually had a shitty way of showing gratitude so he hoped Alfie would get the message.

Alfie hummed appreciatively and returned the kiss with his usual intensity. Tommy didn’t let go then and Alfie gladly accepted the invitation. He grabbed Tommy’s hips and pressed him against the nearest wall, now placing long kisses on his neck.

“This better be about me and not the fuckin’ hair, eh?” Tommy wrapped his arms around Alfie’s broad shoulders and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. Neck kisses were one of his favorites. He liked the way Alfie’s beard scratched against the exposed skin.

“Like I said,” Alfie pressed himself harder against Tommy and opened the other man’s trousers. “It’s the crazy. That’s my thing, yeah.”

Tommy chuckled at that and finally relaxed, letting Alfie take care of him. He was half-hard already and all it took was two or three more tugs to get him fully aroused. And Alfie knew exactly how to touch him and give Tommy what he needed.

“Ah, fuck…” Tommy swallowed hard with a muffled moan and noticed that Alfie’s dry hand got slick really fast. Nobody turned Tommy on more than that man. 

Alfie took it slow at first, until Tommy made a familiar noise, the whiny and out-of-breath one. Tommy said something then that made Alfie smile into his neck, but honestly… Tommy couldn’t even register himself what he said. How could he concentrate, with Alfie biting his neck gently like that and his thumb rubbing over the head of his cock.

Tommy came hard and all over Alfie’s clothes, with a _really embarrassing moan_ that made Alfie kiss him like he was starving for it.

“Fuck,” Tommy said, still pressed against the other man and trying to catch his breath. “I needed that.”

“Oh, yeah, no. Any fuckin’ time, sweetheart, yeah.” Alfie turned around to wash his hands but Tommy could see he was smiling.

“What the fuck, come back here.” Tommy fumbled a bit with his own clothes, trying to undress as fast as possible. There was hair and cum all over them both anyway. Tommy grabbed Alfie’s shirt and got rid of it quickly, then trousers and pants. Alfie let Tommy undress him, resting both hands on the washbasin and completely happy to let Tommy decide what he wanted to do next. 

It was clear what Tommy wanted, the way he watched Alfie’s cock now, red and _painfully_ hard. Tommy immediately felt an immense sense of accomplishment at that. He knelt before Alfie and saw the familiar spark of excitement in his man’s eyes. Oh, yeah. This was the moment to thank him properly. Tommy hummed as he took Alfie in his mouth, inch by inch, letting his jaw go slack and tongue spread flat. He closed his eyes, concentrating a bit to fit most of him in, but Alfie protested with a grunt and grabbed Tommy by the hair. The gesture somehow had the opposite reaction in Tommy than usual. That only happened when Alfie did it. When he grabbed Tommy’s hair like that, it only ever meant good things.

“Oh, no you don’t. Look at me, darlin’,” Alfie said, voice low and hoarse.

Tommy grabbed Alfie’s hips to steady himself and did as he asked. Long lashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones and those big blue eyes looked right at Alfie, full of promise.

Alfie fucked into his mouth and Tommy let him, adjusting to Alfie’s pace. He came down Tommy’s throat with a harsh moan and a set of curses that were impressively creative. Tommy stayed on his knees, Alfie’s softening cock still in his mouth. He swallowed then, making sure Alfie watched. Tommy wanted to be exceptionally good to him today.

“Fuckin’ hell. Nobody’s touching your hair ever again.” Alfie moved then to separate them and Tommy chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“If you say so,” Tommy said and stood up, then pressed himself against Alfie, seeking warmth.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ say so.” Alfie let Tommy rest his head against his shoulder and stroked his back in circles. “You go to a barber again, I fuckin’ stab you in your sleep, darlin’.”

“In my sleep?”

“That’s right.”

“With the scissors or…?”

“Fuckin’ hell, the cheek on you, boy!” Alfie spanked Tommy’s ass lightly and pointed towards the door. “Out. We’re going to bed, I need a cuddle. And then, I’ll show ya exactly what I think of your fuckin’ Peaky hair.”

That, Tommy supposed, sounded like a fantastic plan.

  
  



End file.
